Confessions

       Ok, time to confess. I have not made an entry because I have been extremely busy. Also, because I have been busy, I have been slacking on the running. I have not been to the gym since last Monday, and that run was pathetic due to a Charlie Horse caused by a severe dehydration. This was a side effect of cheap Captain and Diet doubles and shaking my groove thing all night long at my sister-in-law’s wedding. This was followed by getting sick on my in-law’s front lawn, then washing the remnants of that episode out of Josh’s rental tie with hand soap, then slurring apologies to my mother-in-law while I suck down chicken wings with my father-in-law.          

Honestly, I don’t know why they put up with me.

Well, yesterday it was back on the treadmill horse. I am recovering from a nasty cold, no doubt due to my immune system weakened by lack of exercise. I was coming off a steady diet of homemade chicken (leftover turkey) noodle soup, NyQuil, and sleep. I am a firm believer that this little tri-fecta of heaven will cure anything. Take that, Jonas Salk.

During my time of laziness, I have not stopped thinking about this interval, and how I’m going to beat it. The obvious answer would to be to beat it with practice, which clearly I’ve lapsed on. To be honest, it’s really hard to walk into the gym knowing you are going to get your ass beat up over something that is easy for most people to do. It’s really disheartening. I’m sure most people can relate to this, at home, at work, at school, wherever.

But, that is not an excuse to accept failure. I need to look at this as a challenge I should be motivated to overcome. Every day is an opportunity to finish it and move on. But, this positive “can do” attitude is waning. I need to feel a win, but I need to keep trying first.

So I think about it. Constantly. I think about it when I’m driving to and from work. I think about it as I sit in my rocking chair. I think about it when I got to bed and when I get up in the morning. I think about what I used to do, and what I’m capable of doing now.

Finally, I get an idea. Slow and steady wins the race. I say this a lot, and try to apply that to multiple areas of my life. This is challenging, since I can’t stand to do hardly anything slowly.

But, when I started running in college, I ran on an indoor track. I would have a set distance in mind, and I could visualize the finish. I would run super slow, just whatever it took to finish. I decide to decrease my speed on the treadmill. I don’t care if I look like I’m about to trip over my shoelaces, or simply keel over, it’s all about finishing a half mile at this point. I need to prove to myself that I can do it.

I get into the gym and make my way to the treadmills. I spot this very fit looking man doing a very slow jog on his treadmill. I smile inside. This guy is probably a marathon runner, and he is going slow as hell. He’s barely stumbling along! I definitely have the right idea here. I catch a glimpse of the speed as I pass by. 5.0, dammit. What looks horrifically slow to me is not that much slower than what I usually run. Well, let’s try that.

So, I started my run, focused on taking things slow and steady. Instead of cussing and angrily pushing through, I decided to focus on breathing and just being relaxed. I finished a quarter mile feeling like I could go another quarter. I was ready for that half mile. A pretty amazing feat, considering how little I had run in the past two weeks.

My half mile was challenging, but other than a very short step to the side to take a sip of water, I made it! I even kicked up my speed a little at the end. The beauty of a distance interval is, I actually ran for a longer period of time than ever before. At my pathetic pace, a half mile should be between five and six minutes. Before I was running three minute intervals, so there is improvement! Small victory!

I did a very challenging quarter mile after and then had to run to the bathroom. My bladder is killing me, why do I feel like I constantly have to go? I make sure to go right before running but it doesn’t really help. My mother-in-law is a nurse and she says that it’s a common problem in women. Great. I would appreciate any advice on this subject.
I return from the bathroom and get back on the treadmill, and try to will myself to run this half mile straight through. To avoid watching my distance slowly tick by, I change the display on the screen and pull my eyes up, right into the ass of the old man in front of me. During my visit to the can, the stair stepper in front of me became occupied by this senior citizen with spandex pants so tight, they would make Richard Simmons blush. Seriously, if this guy was a day under 75, then I’m freakin’ Chuck Norris. His pants were dark gray and showed every wrinkle, crease, and dimple in his old man behind. His pants were wedged so far into his crack, not only am I certain he is not wearing underwear but I might be able to guess what he had for dinner last night.

Naturally, I am repulsed. Another old guy without underwear, what is going on here? Do I have some kind of old, creepy balls magnet on me that I’m not aware of? Is my gym some kind of secret hangout place for men teetering on the very edge of sanity? How many cats does this guy own? Or dolls? Does he talk to them? Do they talk back?

Physically speaking, this man appears to be in pretty good shape. There is no escaping the effects of age and gravity, so the skin is really the only loose thing on this guy. He is lasting a pretty long time on this stair-climbing machine. We are all rewarded with a view of the sweat stains developing under the flapping curves of his old cheeks.

But, it could be worse; I could be facing the front of Mr. Hot Pants. I decide to count my blessings, and accept Old Man River’s body as punishment for slacking on my running. I force myself to suffer through the rest of my time positioned directly downwind from his Gold Bond medicated body.

Finally, I stretch out in the empty group class studio. It smells strongly of disinfectant. Ah, Handy Hank has been here. I have almost missed him. I feel better than I have in a while, and I vow not to be away from this gym for so long again. I’m back, bitches.